Just Another Romance Novel
by aisulando
Summary: Something goes missing, but you have no inclination as to what it is. (Oh, but you do and painfully so.) When that something returns, you aren't even sure it's necessary anymore. (But it is, and you need it desperately.)


_But I never told you,_

_What I should have said._

_No, I never told you_

_What I should have said._

_And now I miss everything about you._

_(I can't believe that I still want you)_

_**- I Never Told You (Colbie Caillat) **_

* * *

><p>Moving right before your senior year of high school is total shit, but it's an immutable fact that you had no say in whatsoever. With a poor excuse of a cell phone, keeping in constant contact with the friends you've managed to make despite your asshole attitude is nothing but a blissful dream. A dream, that's all anything even is any more. Only a sensation - images, thoughts - and to be experienced when asleep.<p>

(Dreams are preferred, when compared to reality.)

Most of what is left behind is replaceable. Though, there is one thing you haven't replaced. The other slots have been filled - teachers, acquaintances, books. But now that you think about it, there isn't that one thing that makes your heart beat like mad and gives your freckles a much warmer background than your pale skin. The one thing that leaves you breathless; a pleasant feeling, like releasing a breath you've held in for too long.

(You haven't replaced the thing you cared about most.)

You don't think life is terrible - no, nothing like that at all. You have friends. Not as close per say as your former ones, but enough to hold conversations and satisfy the need of human contact. You have no enemies and carry along ever so boringly each day, the same day in and day out. Your grades are exceptional. There's nothing to complain about, but yet you feel something isn't quite right. Your mind is telling that feeling - or rather lack of feeling - in your chest that whatever it's doing is total bullshit.

(It may not be complete bullshit, but rationalizing it wouldn't change that it's there.)

The school year holds nothing of importance for you. You have your college selected for the following school year. Nothing too fancy, just one that suits the requirements for the field of study you wish to follow. The last year you can call yourself a high schooler passes by in a blur.

(Even if some days drag more than others. The days were that void feeling is strongest. The days where everything reminds you of _him_.)

Your friend Yamraiha is attending the same college that you are. You are not the type to procrastinate, so your boxes have been packed long before. Yamraiha, on the hand, shows up at your door and practically begs for your assistance with her things. She is dear to you. You help, despite the hours of packing wiping out your plans.

(Plans you never made.)

After helping each other jam belongings in every possible corner of a car, you and Yamraiha start your trip to higher education. You hang your parking pass from your mirror and carry Yamraiha's things to her new dorm before returning for your own boxes. After several trips, you have finally hauled every box to your dorm, where the air stagnant from sitting all of break.

(Similar to the place in your body where your heart resides.)

You organize everything on the side of the room you claim as your own. Everything has a place. It's neat; just the way you like it. You take out a book to kill some time.

(A romance novel. You wonder what a relationship that isn't one-sided feels like.)

There's a slight knock and the door opens. You find a good place to stop before looking up to greet, for the first time, what you believe is your new roommate.

(You aren't wrong; it is your new roommate, but this is your first greeting.)

He walks in with hair slightly different from what you remember of junior year of high school. It's shorter. From what you can see, he's gotten an undercut with his usual mop of violet hair resting on top. His eyes are as golden as the day you left, teeth shining white with that smile you've been aching to see.

(You heart is racing like it never stopped and the air rushes forth from your lungs as you realize; he's back.)

Your best friend is standing in front of you, grinning as if it's only been a single day without seeing each other. All you can think as you shake his hand is damn him, damn his smile, damn his looks, and damn him for making you fall head over heels for someone you can't have.

(The void is replaced with something new. Something his romance call love sickness.)

Damn Sinbad.

(And damn these feelings.)


End file.
